


Fallout

by MayaAodhan



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-01 12:10:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4019251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayaAodhan/pseuds/MayaAodhan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Darkness has been released. The Winchesters must gather former enemies and allies to stand where once angels fought. </p><p>And at the centre of it, there is Dean and Castiel, struggling to keep their feelings for one another a secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The smoke choked him. Thick and dark it scoured his lungs, turning the air inside Baby to ash. Dean yanked his shirt over his nose and mouth and squeezed his eyes shut. He yanked the lever of the bench seat and shoved backwards, the seat ground back to full extension and he slid off. He could hear Sammy coughing, and reaching out, he yanked his brother down low where some clean air hovered below the dash.  
Baby rocked on its wheels. The sound and pressure dropping made his ears ache. He felt prickles of electricity skate along the metal parts of the car. Baby shorted out with a rattle and gasp.

  
“Damn it,” Dean snarled. “Come ON.”

  
The maelstrom howled and snarled. He could feel a hand clench at his shoulder. Sammy’s voice was a hoarse whisper. “Dean…”

  
The raw fear in Sammy’s voice had Dean fumbling for Sammy’s wrist, gripping it tight. He wasn’t ashamed to say the clench of fear in his gut was making him sick.

  
“Fuck.” Dean jammed one hand between his head and the door where he got a sudden crack on the skull by the window winder as something struck the Impala with crunching force.

  
The Impala juddered, tipping and tilting, hurling on its axis.

  
“Hold together, baby.” Dean gripped the steering wheel to hold himself steady.

  
The Impala rocked sickeningly once more, then came crunching down on four wheels. The sound quieted. The pings were from cooling metal. One of the doors ground open with a protesting squeak and light flooded into the grimy interior. They weren’t in the field. They were in … a warehouse.

  
“Rocky. Bullwinkle. What the hell did you two idiots do this time?” Crowley stared down at the two men sprawled uncomfortably, half on the seat, half curled under the dash.

  
Dean tried to speak, levering himself upright, groaning, then coughing. Clouds of ash puffed around him. “Crowley.”

  
Crowley arched a brow and glared at Sam. Sam stared defiantly back. “So the plan didn’t work out quite the way you wanted, eh, Moose? You two idiots really do specialise in trying to end the very goddamn world you are trying to save.”

  
Sam swiped the back of his hand over his mouth. “Rowena. Cas?”

  
Dean was leaning against the side of the Impala, his hands on his knees, before he glanced up, eyes narrowed, as he tracked between the two men. “What do you mean ‘Cas’?” he rasped.

  
“Rowena turned him into her little pet attack puppy. I had to put him down.”

  
Dean launched himself at Crowley. His fingertips barely touched Crowley’s immaculate suit before he was tossed aside with a flick of Crowley’s fingers. “Oh please,” Crowley growled with annoyance. “Sit. Bad dog.”

Dean gripped his ribs. That had hurt like hell. He grimaced. “Where is Cas?” he choked out.

  
Crowley sighed, flicked some ash from the Impala from his lapel. “Over there.” He gestured sideways. Dean scrambled to his feet. He swallowed hard and finally saw the crumpled figure in the blood stained trench coat.

  
“Cas?” The pain of the past few days. The pain in his entire soul when he had beaten Cas, and nearly put the angel blade through his chest … it strangled the voice in his throat. He stumbled toward the angel and dropped to his knees.

  
Sam turned and stared at Crowley. “What? You thought I would just let him kill me? Be serious, Moose. Besides, we have bigger things to worry about. Like you two thundering morons releasing the Darkness. Don’t suppose you want to fix that monumental fuck up?”

  
“You killed Cas.” Sam was struggling to get past it, the guilt of his role in that flaring in his face. “You killed … an angel of heaven.”

 

Dean gently turned Castiel toward him. The angel’s face was battered. New bruises and wounds overlaid old. Blood pooled on the floor. His lips were puffed and swollen. He touched Cas’ face gingerly, then splayed his fingers to slide through the tangled strands of Castiel’s messy, blood clotted hair.  
“Cas …” he whispered.

Crowley scraped a hand down his face, the beard rasping his palm. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Of course I didn’t kill him. We are going to need what’s left of that devoted idiot’s grace.”

Castiel’s eyes trembled but didn’t open. They were swollen shut. His breath hissed out.  
“Dean …” The sound was barely articulate.  
Dean made a small sound, before squeezing his eyes shut.

Crowley growled his impatience. “He’s alive, alright. He’s a damn angel. I think it would be a better choice to get the hell out of here, don’t you? You can be all bitter and guilt ridden later, Rocky.”

Dean slid his arms under Castiel’s shoulders and knees, and with a heave of his trembling, exhausted body, he took the weight and lifted him up.  
“You and I are gonna have a discussion in a while, Crowley,” Dean rumbled, his eyes raw.

“Can hardly wait.” Crowley waved his hand.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He awakens

Castiel blinked his eyes open. They were dry and scraped like sandpaper. It hurt. He surveyed his form. Wounded. Badly. Pain was not new but this was bone deep.   
The ceiling was patchy grey. Water had seeped in spots, staining the plaster into a bland landscape that reminded him a little of Purgatory. Washed out. Stripped of everything that made here…livable.  
He surveyed his surrounds and felt muscles in his face twitch. They must be healing. Irritating. Much like the vague pressure surrounding his eyes. He supposed they were varying shades of purple and yellow. It must have been a few days since he last vaguely remembered an apparition of Dean Winchester hovering over him and cradling his head as though he were the most precious…  
Yes.  
Days.  
He took experimental breaths, necessary for speech and winced at the pull and tug of what was probably broken rib bones. If he was any judge, the seventh, eighth and ninth rib was cracked on the right side. The eighth, ninth and tenth was damaged on the left.   
He considered. Why didn’t he remember? He remembered Rowena. Before a red haze took him, he remembered Crowley. He swallowed and found the motion stuck. Damn human forms and their need for…lubrication. He blinked again.  
A sound like a chainsaw burring through a chunk of metal assailed his ears and made him wince. He turned toward it. He frowned.   
It took a moment.  
Blonde hair that looked like it could do with a wash. Freckled lightly tanned skin. Features pleasingly assembled. Ears. Two. Lips, curved and plump, faintly vibrating as an expelled breath of air did the reciprocal of the snore. A lean torso in plaid shirt and leather jacket. True, the cloth was nice enough, but the red assailed the senses. Soft blue denim on the legs, crossed at the ankles, the heels propped on the edge of his bed. Socks with holes in the toes.   
Who was this? His head ached. Oh yes. Dean Winchester.   
Damn it.   
His grace churned in the fragile shell of the body. And he remembered.   
Dean.  
One hand lay draped over the arm of the comfortable looking armchair. The other splayed on the flat stomach.   
Castiel blinked slowly again, wincing.  
His own hand lay palm up on the sheet. He was …not naked. He was in shorts, yes. Someone had bound his chest in thick swaths of dressing.   
Dean?  
Charlie?   
No.   
The one called Charlie was not on earth.  
Castiel reached out and touched the hand of Dean Winchester.   
His back arched with the sudden rush of emotions that assailed him from the sleeping man. He should have shielded himself. How could he have forgotten??  
Pain.  
Loss.   
Fear.  
Guilt.   
Castiel closed his eyes against it. Letting out a small sound.  
Love.

He opened his eyes and turned to stare at the face of Dean Winchester.   
“Hey. Cas.” Dean scrubbed at his eyes, before dropping his booted feet from the side of the bed. “’Bout time you came around. Been sleepin’ too long, buddy.” An awkward pat was given his shoulder. “How you feelin’?”  
“Much better.” Castiel studied the green eyes that barely met his, just slipping to the side. “Hungry.”  
“Yeah? Good. I always feel hungry after a good sleep.” Dean sounds relieved. Castiel is relieved. The sudden flare of tension in the room had battered his senses.  
Dean stands and heads for the door. “Will let Sammy know you are awake. He will be happy to know.”  
The sudden abyss made Castiel feel uncertain, unwelcome, unsure. “I am fine, Dean.”  
“I had faith.” Dean’s hand clenched hard on the doorway. “Didn’t have many folks left to pray too, but I figured they owed you a thing or two.”  
Castiel laid his head back on his pillow and for some unfathomable reason, his eyes burned with tears.


	3. An Army in Theory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in the bunker, the boys talk options.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all of you sweet people giving me feed back. It feeds the soul of a lowly fanfic writer!

The bunker still smelled like the gasoline the Frankensteins had poured over the books. The volumes were piled on the table, their bindings stained and reeking. Dean stood, his hands clutching the back of a chair, his knuckles white. Sam sat opposite, staring at his linked hands resting on the table. Crowley sprawled in his chair, toying idly with a frayed section of the fabric on the arm.   
“Alright, Crowley. Spill.” Dean studied Crowley’s face. “Why are you here?”  
“Because, Rocky, you two idiots unleashed the Darkness and you are going to need an army.”  
Sam glanced up and frowned. “What?”  
“Explain,” Dean demanded.  
“In the beginning there was only darkness. God created light and the darkness fell away. I’m sure you know that old fairytale.” Crowley propped his chin on his fist. “The light wasn’t … light, as such.”  
“It was us.” A quiet voice interrupted the discussion, coming from the doorway behind Dean. The chair creaked under Dean’s hands.  
“Cas!” Sam rose to his feet. “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”  
“I am fine, Sam.” Castiel continued into the room, buttoning a shirt over the white swathe of dressings, his bare feet scuffing the floor. “My injuries were tended well and my grace did the rest. While I won’t be engaging in hand to hand combat in the next few hours, I am whole enough to dress myself and get out of bed.” He moved toward the table and gripped the back of a chair to steady himself.   
Dean met Crowley’s gaze and scowled at the knowing smirk on his face. His voice was harsher than usual as a faint flush coloured his cheek. “What do you mean, it was you.”  
“I am an angel, Dean.” Castle stated in his odd, flat way. “I stood beside my kin and we went to war against the Darkness.”  
“What was that like?” Sam asked, his eyes wide with wonder.  
“It was brutal. Many of us fell. But we stood victorious in the end.” Castiel stared at the wall of the bunker, seeing another time. “I would not care to repeat the process.”  
“Well, thanks to your interference, angel boy, you aren’t going to have a lot of choice,” Crowley drawled. “And as I was just telling your two humans here, they are going to need an army. Which means…they need me.”  
“I would have thought you might have enjoyed the situation, Crowley. The Darkness sounds like something right up your alley,” Dean straightened and stalked away from Cas. His finger tips trailed over the books.  
“Well there you are mistaken.” Crowley shifted in his seat. “The Darkness? That little nightmare is in direct competition with mine. And I like to have a monopoly.”   
“So you say we need an army?” Dean sounded scornful. “Just where are you planning to pull that from? The angels aren’t so much in control anymore. God has gone AWOL. Metatron is out there making his plans. And your little minions aren’t inclined toward altruistic gestures.”  
“Oh, I have some guests you will be interested in.” Crowley grinned.  
Castiel made a low sound in his throat before shaking his head. “No, Crowley.”  
Dean glanced between Castiel and Crowley. “What’s going on?”  
“Come on, angel boy,” Crowley held out his hands in mock supplication. “How many options do you have?”  
Castiel slammed his head down on the table. “No!”  
Sam rubbed his brow. “What are you talking about?”  
Castiel gritted his teeth. “Lucifer was not the only one of the heavenly host cast down.”  
“Daddy dearest didn’t like it when the kiddies didn’t play by the rules.” Crowley continued with obvious glee. “And kicked them out of house and home without even best wishes. When that didn’t go so well either, he bound the poor bastards in everlasting … darkness…” His eyes twinkled. “Bound in chains to wait for judgement day.”  
“And there they must remain, demon,” Castiel growled.   
“They only thought to try out what God gave ‘em.” Crowley winked.  
“It wasn’t …” Castiel sighed in frustration.   
Dean cleared his throat. “Just putting it out there, would you mind awfully telling us what the hell you two are going on about?”  
Crowley linked his hands behind his head. “I have a fallen angel army sitting in my dungeons. Little known agreement with the King of Hell - we look after ‘em. We can’t bust their chains - though a true member of the heavenly host, all graced up with their wings all fluttery and what have you, can give the order.”  
“Is he telling the truth, Cas?” Dean turned on Castiel.  
“A word, Dean.” Castiel’s jaw was clenched tight as he turned and marched from the room.  
“Run along after your feathery boyfriend, Rocky.” Crowley grinned. “And do let me know what you decide.”  
Dean just shot him a glare.

“Cas? What is Crowley going on about?”  
Castiel was hanging onto the doorframe, sweat beading on his brow. “One moment.”   
“Cas?” Dean gripped the angel’s arm. “You look like hell.”  
“Not an appropriate word, Dean,” Castiel murmured flatly.   
“Look, just sit for a second.”  
“No.” Castiel rounded on him fiercely, his bright blue eyes burning. “Listen to me, Dean. The angels Crowley is talking about, nearly destroyed the world. You cannot agree to this.”  
“But he said he couldn’t release them without permission from heaven right?”  
“Yes.”  
“So, that’s you and a whole handful of angels that sure as hell won’t be helping us out.”  
“If you asked me, I would do it, Dean.” Castiel said softly. “Don’t ask me. Don’t. Their offspring nearly destroyed the world.”  
Dean rubbed his brow. “What are you talking about?”  
“The Nephilim were the offspring of angels and humans. It led to another war. God bound those who had lain with humankind within Hell and sent a flood to destroy the Nephilim and end the war.”  
“Bullshit.” Dean scoffed. “That’s just fairytales and bullshit.”  
“No, Dean. It’s not.” Castiel shook his head. He went pale. “Damn.” He stumbled as he tried to reach a chair.   
Dean grabbed him before he could fall and guided him to the seat. “I thought you said your grace was healing you.”  
“It is.” Castiel closed his eyes. “As you would say, Crowley really did a number on me. My vessel was very…broken.”  
“Bloody hell, Cas.” Dean squatted down in front of him. “You need to rest.”  
“Yes. Rest.” Castiel opened his eyes, and met Dean’s searching gaze.   
There was a heavy pause.   
Dean broke it first. “Cas. I’m sorry. I hurt you.”  
“Dean…”   
“No wait. You are my best friend. And I hurt you. It’s what I do.” Dean rubbed the tense muscles at the back of his neck. “Even when I was beating on you, everything here…” He tapped his chest with a forefinger. “…Was screaming at me to stop. But I couldn’t. And I’m so sorry. I wish that was enough to make it better.”  
“Dean.” Castiel rested his hand gently in the untidy strands of Dean’s hair, his fingernails tracing furrows. “I forgive you. Of course I forgive you. It was Sam. You had to protect Sam.”  
“I should have been protecting you. You are my family, Cas. Just as much as Sammy.”  
Castiel stilled, his brows drawing together in a frown. “Dean. I forgive you.”  
“Cas…”  
“I forgive you.”  
Dean leaned forward and rested his brow on Castiel’s knee. His breath grew shallow. Castiel sat, uncertain for moment, before his hand splayed cautiously against the smooth warm skin of Dean’s neck. Dean’s hand wrapped around Castiel’s wrist but did not push him away.   
Castiel’s expression changed. He swallowed. Hard. Closed his eyes again and dropped his chin to his chest. He lifted his palm from Dean’s neck and clutched his shoulder. His voice was schooled into flat tones that belied the rush of emotions on the angel’s human face. “It’s alright, Dean. We must discuss the issue with Crowley.”   
Dean lifted his head, and drew back, breaking the contact with Castiel. “Of course.” His eyes shuttered. “I will tell him no. No more angels.” He slowly rose to his feet. “You alright?”  
“I will be.” Castiel leaned his elbows on his knees and clutched his hands together tightly. “Don’t worry.”


	4. Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because ... they needed it.

Crowley had gone. Too easily to Dean’s mind. The demon had just shrugged, given his trademark smirk and blinked from existence in the bunker. They took the next few hours of quiet to take some downtime - a shower, a shave, ram some food into their mouths.   
Dean sat on the side of his bed, his elbows on his knees. He was tired. Bone tired. And his guilt churned his gut. He should have felt hope, but in all honesty the knowledge of what he had done; the months of brutality, the insane decisions, the darkness that had taken over his soul, were smashing into the last remaining vestiges of his memory of himself as a passably decent human being.   
His fingernails raked through the damp strands of his newly washed hair.   
“Dean.”   
Castiel’s voice startled him and he jerked his head up.   
“Cas. What’re you doing here?” He couldn’t keep the weariness out of his voice, or the punch to the gut the sudden proximity brought.  
“I don’t need to eat or sleep.” Castiel frowned at Dean. “Should I leave?”  
Dean stood hurriedly. “No. Don’t. I mean…” He looked around his spartan quarters, then back at Castiel. “Did you need to talk to me?”  
“Yes.”  
Castiel stood there in silence, studying Dean’s face. Dean watched him warily, and shoved his hands in the pockets of the blue tracksuit pants he had donned after his shower.   
“Well?” Dean broke the silence first.   
Castiel squinted a little. “I’m formulating my words into a sentence in my head first. I don’t want to cause you offence.”  
Dean flinched. “Look, just fire the shot, Cas. I have got it coming.”  
“Don’t be an ass.” Castiel said drily.  
Dean quirked a smile despite himself. “An ass, Cas?”  
“Yes. I’m not going to yell at you, Dean.” Castiel folded his hands neatly before him.   
“Alright then.” Dean leant against the small table where he piled all the crap out of his pockets at the end of day. Where he tossed his jacket and sunglasses. He defensively folded his arms. “Go ahead.”  
“I’m aware there are certain … feelings that have developed between us.”  
Dean’s eyes widened with surprise. “Cas…”  
“Let me finish please.” The mild look was rapidly disappearing from Castiel’s face. “I have earned that much.”  
Dean flinched, his eyes dropping to the ground.   
“Earned it because I am your friend, Dean. Not at first, but unless I have very much mistaken all the indications, you see me as a friend.”  
“Yeah, of course,” Dean said awkwardly, his shoulders hunching. “Of course you are, Cas.”  
“And I meant it when I said I would have stood with you until the end of the world.”  
“I know, Cas. I know.”  
“So when I say that I believe that feelings may have developed between us, I want you to understand that I mean it in the sense of beyond friendship. Beyond comradeship.” Castiel rocked briefly back and forth on his heels, his features tense and set.   
“Did you read my mind?” Dean asked, grimly, his shoulders tensing. “Did you use that mojo to poke around up there?”  
Castiel shook his head slowly. “No. That would be an invasion of your privacy. I respect you too much to do that - unless I felt it was of absolute necessity, essential to saving your life.”  
“Cas … look. I …” Dean’s shoulders slumped, one hand rising and falling in a helpless gesture.  
“Is my form not pleasing? I know your preference has always been for the female form in the past.”  
“Your form is … fine, Cas.” Dean gripped the edge of the table, his hands white knuckled.  
Castiel moved forward a step, just crowding Dean a little. “I find your form fine as well.”  
“You’re an angel of Heaven, Cas.” Dean ground out from between clenched teeth as his gaze dropped briefly to Castiel’s mouth and back up again. “Isn’t this kind of thing banned?”  
“Yes,” Castiel said simply.   
“And your kind can get thrown out of heaven for that kind of thing. We just got through talking with Crowley about not enlisting a whole bunch of you lot who decided to shake the sheets with humans.”  
“It was more complicated than that, Dean. I am more complicated than that.”  
“Tell me about it.” Dean sighed and drew a hand down his face. “Yeah. Alright. Cas, what I got in here for you…” He tapped his chest. “It’s more than I have held for anyone outside family. Hell, I was even willing to kill Sammy up to a certain point.” He grimaced.   
“But?”   
“I can’t want you, Cas. You are a … pure, decent person.” Dean shook his head. “I have run out of forgiveness for the things I have done. Forgiveness for myself. And I won’t be responsible for wrecking another good, decent thing in this damn world.”   
“I am not so very decent, Dean.” Castiel held out his hand, palm up. Steady and inexorable, it hung between them.   
Dean stared at it, a hounded expression on his face. Castiel made a soft sound, almost a sigh.   
“Dean. Please. Take my hand.”  
Dean hesitantly covered Castiel’s palm with his. The angel returned the grip firmly. Dean winced, waiting, staring at their joined hands. He looked up at Castiel finally. The angel was watching him with a faintly amused expression.   
“We have touched before, Dean.” Dean flushed slightly and muttered something under his breath. Castiel’s eyebrows rose. “And neither of us were sent to anywhere like Hell before.”  
“Figure of speech, Cas.” Dean frowned after a moment. “I feel like an idiot standing here like this.”  
“Do you?” Castiel reached up with his other hand and drew the back of his knuckles over the scruff of Dean’s beard. “How strange that I do not.”  
Dean caught Castiel’s wrist, and met the bright, blue gaze of the angel. “Cas. You shouldn’t …”  
“You cannot make my decisions for me, Dean.” Cas’ hand curved over Dean’s jaw. His thumb traced the curve of Dean’s lower lip. “But I will abide by your decision. If this is something you do not want, I will stop touching you. I will stop until the day you ask me to start again.”  
Dean’s other hand splayed over the middle of Castiel’s back. He moved until there was but a breath between them, his desire darkened green eyes searched Castiel’s open, honest expression.   
“Cas …” Dean’s voice was a low murmur. Their lips were a heartbeat from touching. He released Castiel’s wrist, cupped the other man’s cheek and leaned in. The kiss was light, almost less real than the caress of their fingers. Cas gripped the back of Dean’s threadbare t-shirt with a fist and pressed himself closer, the folds of his trench coat almost enveloping them both.   
It was many minutes before they broke apart to take a much needed breath, at least on Dean’s part. His face was flushed, and his heart thundered in his chest. Castiel’s hand splayed over the pounding rhythm.  
“So fast,” he murmured.  
“Yeah well,” Dean’s mouth quirked faintly, “For an angel, you did a pretty good job in rocking my world.”  
“For a human, you were quite satisfactory also.” Castiel nodded seriously.   
“Satisfactory?” Dean’s eyes narrowed.   
“I have limited capacity for comparison.” Castiel frowned faintly. “I have not kissed many humans.”  
“Hey Dean? You in there?” Sam’s voice could be heard out in the corridor.  
Dean raised a hand, pressing his fingers tightly to his eyes. “Damn it.”  
“I will depart. I’m glad we had this conversation. Cleared the air, as you like to say.”  
“Cas…” Dean grabbed Castiel’s hand, holding it against his chest. “Until… I don’t…”  
“You wish to maintain secrecy until you work out where your feelings truly reside.” Castiel nodded in his quiet way. “Of course.”  
Dean yanked Cas forward for a brief, hard kiss.   
The sound of the door opening had him blinking out.   
Sam leaned on the door handle and studied Dean’s odd position, one arm curved out, the other pressed across his chest. “You alright there?”  
Dean took a deep breath. “Stretching.” He awkwardly twisted himself into an odd position.  
Sam frowned, his head tilted. “Right. Sure. You got a minute? Been doing some research.”  
“Yeah. Be right there.” Dean nodded.   
When Sam closed the door behind him he leaned back on the table again and dropped his chin wearily to his chest. What the HELL was he doing? Cas had only to touch him and his brain went to frickin’ mush.


End file.
